Cameras Show Unvarnished Image Of Magic's Van Gundy

IRA WINDERMAN COMMENTARY

ORLANDO — The note was placed anonymously on Stan Van Gundy's desk Sunday morning in advance of Game 3 of the Eastern Conference finals.

It was simple, to the point, reading: "You know, you can turn the microphone off. You can put a towel over the camera."

While we've already been anointed as witnesses in this series courtesy of LeBron James' marketing arm as well as the right arm of the Cavaliers forward that launched Friday's 3-point miracle at the buzzer, we've also spent the past month as Van Gundy voyeurs.

It is a side of Van Gundy we heard about during his two-plus seasons as Heat coach, but one never as public as the display this past month.

Yet there is the Magic coach imploring during his pregame speeches, urging amid timeout huddles, exhorting during halftime lectures and, in the hoarsest of voices, exhaling during postgame addresses, including Sunday's 99-89 victory over Cleveland.

All on video courtesy of the NBA's network of remote-controlled cameras and wireless microphones.

Appearances, quite visibly, have never been a priority for Van Gundy. So while the other three coaches in the conference finals - the Cavaliers' Mike Brown, the Nuggets' George Karl and Lakers' Phil Jackson - are captured in mostly measured moments, Van Gundy has erupted into America's living rooms.

"The people who know me, some of them think I'm crazy, too," he says. "But most of them just think I'm crazy when I coach."

While he might be living a Big Brother existence, the difference in this second NBA coaching stop is there is no big brother looking over a shoulder. Working under legendary Pat Riley was not always the easiest environment in Miami.

"When I signed a contract here, I knew that regardless of what happened, I don't need to have another job after this," Van Gundy says as his players go through pregame drills. "And the thing I liked about that is not that I don't want to coach, but that I can coach the way I think is best to win games."

So what America sees on Memorial Day weekend is a Labor Day coach. It is rewarding work, but not necessarily easy.

"It takes a toll on me," he says. "I'm going to be honest, I love competing, but it takes a toll on me and my family and my mood, everything else."

That toll led to his December 2005 departure as Heat coach. It also leads to the sometimes haggard moments captured inside the locker room and huddle.

"If I want to coach to the cameras," he says, "I could be the most positive guy in the world. It wouldn't be me, but nobody would be saying anything about that. But to me, what does that matter?"

To Van Gundy, there are greater concerns than how he was viewed as Heat coach or how he is judged with the Magic.

What matters?

His daughter's school election.

So after closing out the 76ers in the first round, he faced the podium cameras and said, "My 17-year-old daughter, she's never asked me to do this, but if anybody from Seminole High School is watching the press conference, next Friday you got to vote for my daughter for the student council. Shannon Van Gundy, give her your vote."

Dad took that loss harder than daughter.

"I'm not sure you have a lot of kids in Seminole High School turning on NBA-TV after the game, you know," he says. "She did not win the election, but also didn't seem overly upset about it. So that was good."

What matters?

Marlins manager and former Miami neighbor Fredi Gonzalez going through a current rough patch.

"You feel for him," Van Gundy says. "I do think Fredi has got about as even a demeanor as anybody I've been around in sports. But it's difficult for me to watch them."

And yet America is watching Van Gundy night raw, sneaking peaks into how the game both sustains and drains.

"I would feel phony," he says, "playing to the cameras and talking to my guys in a different way."